


The Hound's Pleasure

by WildBubblesRoam



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildBubblesRoam/pseuds/WildBubblesRoam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa goes for a quiet walk one night and discovers the Hound in his bed chambers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: AU where Sansa is a little bit older, the war is still going on, but Sandor's stayed at King's Landing instead of fleeing during the Battle of Blackwater. Besides that...not too graphic depictions of a solo sexual act.
> 
> This one's just for fun, so I'm not stressing too much over plot. I hope you enjoy!

  
        It was getting late and she knew that she should have asked for an escort back to her bed chambers but the thought of walking back to her cage so willingly made her sick. She had been kept at King’s Landing for so long while Cersei’s brother remained a captive of Sansa’s own brother, Robb Stark. She wouldn’t go back to her cold, empty room where she would spend the rest of her night most likely crying herself to sleep, as she had begun to do almost regularly since the beheading of her beloved father. _‘No,’_ she thought, a new determination spreading through her mind and her spirit as she took an unexpected turn, past the corridor leading to her bed chambers. At first she wasn’t sure where she was going to go. Without a guard and with it being so late at night, she knew there were simply places that she could not go, not out of an inability but for her own safety alone. After the way she was attacked during the riot long ago, she knew no man could be trusted to restrain himself when the opportunity was given to him. If it weren’t for the King’s dog—Sandor Clegane, _The Hound_ , she would have been found in a far worse state than she was.

 

         Sansa pushed the unpleasant memory from her thoughts and continued on her aimless journey through the Red Keep. Before long, the thick stone walls that held her in so claustrophobically were gone and she found herself outside, roaming around the grounds not far from where the gallant knights trained under the day’s bright sunlight. But the sun had gone down hours ago and now the grounds were nearly empty. A young squire was the only one outside this late at night and after returning her polite nod, their silent exchange came to an end and Sansa continued on her walk. A brief questioning thought made her wonder where exactly all the knights and good Sers of the castle were when their shifts and daily duties were complete. Surely they couldn’t all be crowded tightly in the few pubs and sleazy taverns that King’s Landing held. She shrugged off her curiosity and decided they had all already turned in for the night, resting peacefully in their beds so as to get an early morning start the following day. It was a naïve enough answer but what else could be expected of the little bird, sheltered for so long with her family back in the snowy lands of Winterfell.

 

         It’d been so long since she’d even seen home. _‘Home,’_ Sansa thought silently, wondering how much Robb had grown, if her mother had grown at all gray from the stress of all this war. Even Jon Snow came to mind as she wandered past the horse stables, deciding that he had probably been the luckiest one out of all of them, far away from this mess of politics and battles. Arya was still missing, and her younger brothers…She tried not to think of Bran and Rickon. A pair of tiny tears threatened to break free from behind her eyelashes as she wondered if her younger brothers had been given a quick death. She knew their bodies had been burnt until their bones had turned black and their faces unrecognizable, but somewhere in her mind she had convinced herself that they were already dead long before any torches had touched their delicate flesh. It was easier to think of their untimely ends that way, less painful in the long run.

 

         Being in the stables, surrounded by the massive horses of the knights and the King’s Guard, her mind came back to Arya. She had always been such a disaster when it came to anything proper and lady-like, but down here in the stables, she would have thrived. She had always tried to tag along with her older brothers, keeping their Septa in such a constant state of frenzy. It would be a difficult task to tame the wild Arya Stark into a true Lady. Sansa smiled and reached for one of the horses, stroking the side of its long neck gently. It was calming and if she could manage to get away from the Lannisters and their guards more often, she would have made it a nightly habit to take a trip down to the stables to pet and groom the horses.

 

         Hearing footsteps outside approaching, Sansa hurried out the back door of the stables, slipping out of sight and walking briskly down a narrow pathway away from the stables. She wasn’t certain where the walkway actually led and with a few more strides, the path turned to nothing more than a dirt road turning back upwards towards the Red Keep again. She’d never used this entrance before, never even knew it existed. _‘Maybe that’s because you shouldn’t be here.’_ Her inner voice warned her quietly. The stone walls in this section of the castle weren’t nearly as well-kept. There were chips and holes where chunks of rock had been knocked out or weathered down to close to nothing and no one bothered to repair it. The floors were caked in a thin dusting of the dirt trekked in from the outside. No one bothered cleaning this part of the castle. There was no need. Surely no one of any importance to the King or the Lannisters lived down here; only the servants, handmaidens perhaps, and maybe some low-ranking squires to the Knights of the King’s Guard.

 

         She was about to turn around and leave when she heard noises coming from further down the corridor. Sansa froze, trying to make out what the voice was saying but soon realized it wasn’t a voice at all, but the sound of lazy feet shuffling their way into a neighboring room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the large silhouette of a man, obviously drunken from the way his shoulders seemed to be hunched and his need to brace the wall as he all but toppled into his room through the thick wooden door. A woman followed behind him, much more steady on her feet, but she stopped at his doorway and held her hands on her wide hips. Sansa crept closer, minding that her footsteps were as light as she could make them. “Looking for company?” The woman asked in her sultry tone and though Sansa couldn’t see her face from this angle, she knew the woman must have been playing at him with her eyes, much like the women did with men they wished to bed.

 

         His voice reached out of the room, past the woman, loud enough for Sansa to hear his reply. At first he only laughed a low, throaty chuckle, one too familiar to Sansa. “Not unless you’d like to warm my bed simply for the pleasure of my pretty face. I’ve got no gold for you, whore.” The woman turned before he could finish, having heard his answer no doubt numerous times from drunken men who had wandered back to their beds after a long night of drinking. If men’s gold wasn’t spent on the company of women, it had no doubt already been wasted away on wine down in the taverns. The woman left, not bothering to close his door, and Sansa intended to leave as well, but another sound stilled her for a moment longer. At first it sounded like a groan, possibly as he struggled to drunkenly drag himself into his bed where he could sleep off the wine, but when the second grunt reached her ears, it didn’t sound as harsh as the first.

 

         Against her better judgment, the eldest Stark girl stepped forward, carefully approaching the open doorway as the sound of a rickety wooden chair reached her. It sounded as though someone had sat down and shifted their weight more comfortably on the seat, but it didn’t stop at just one strained squeak. A pattern of noises came from the chair as its occupant leaned back restlessly. A third groan nearly made her jump as she braced herself against the wall next to the doorway. Catching her breath and unsuccessfully trying to settle her nerves, Sansa peeked in front of the doorway just barely enough to peer into the small room. It was simple. A makeshift bed laid on one side of the room, a tall rack holding up his suit of armor properly so as not to damage it when not in use stood on the other side, and in between the two sat Sandor Clegane on the old wooden chair that continued to creak and shift under his weight. His head was leaning back, resting against the wall behind him with his eyes closed. His brows pulled in close together with a stress that she hadn’t seen on him before. His eyes tightened as he let out a quieted moan. Sansa drew a hand over her mouth, suddenly untrusting of her ability to silence her breathing. _‘You shouldn’t be here! Go back to your section of the castle, NOW!’_ Her brain was screaming with every ounce that it held but she couldn’t find the motivation to move her feet from their spot by the door.

 

         Though his burnt, rough face twisted with an obvious strain, it wasn’t his face that she was focusing on. Traveling down his front, past his wide chest and the bulging muscles of his arms, her eyes landed in his lap. Between his thumb and his forefinger, held tightly against his palm, the Hound had his manhood firmly in hand. Its thickness seemed to hold it upright all on its own as he stroked it up and down lengthwise. The tip was glistening with a moisture that she couldn’t place but his hand kept moving as he pleasured himself unknowingly in front of her. As he let out a low, raspy growl, the noise startled her and she hissed in a breath. It was too loud. She knew it and out of a sudden fear of being discovered, she brought her sight back up to his face.

 

         His head had straightened, his chin returning to its natural position as his eyes flickered open. His hand paused and though his face relaxed in the split second that he first spotted her, it hardened again when the recognition washed over him. _‘He sees you! Get moving! Go!’_ Sansa stood, frozen by the doorway and nearly lost her breath once more when his fingers slowly began to graze over the tight skin of his member again. She watched him stroke it again, gently dragging his fingertips all the way down to the base, resting there for no more than half a second, before reaching his way back up to the tip and starting over again. On his third stroke, Sansa glanced back up at his face. His eyes were still on her, more intense in their stare than they were previously. With a heavy sigh, he lifted his chin slightly and allowed his eyes to lazily blink closed only to open again and find her bright blue Tully pair staring back at him. His lips parted just a hair when the pace of his hand quickened. His breathing became heavier, louder and more labored, but his eyes remained on her.

 

         Her own mouth split open as she danced between watching his face and watching his hand before finally settling on his steady glare. He tried to hold onto the image of her face, her eyes, her pouty lips and her fiery red hair, but the feeling became too intense and as he held his cock firmly in his hand, his eyes pressed closed and he let out a moan deep in his throat. The stress on his face, his brows, relaxed completely just as he gained his release, letting it spill from his engorged shaft and seeping quickly out of the head. It covered his palm and though some thick drops landed on the floor beneath his creaky old chair, Sansa watched only his face. He had seen her, that much was undisputable, and yet…he had _continued._ Not only did he continue, but he did so while knowingly staring at her, holding her in that moment with him by her eyes, and somewhere inside her, Sansa felt an arousal of her own.

 

         Sandor's eyes remained closed for a moment longer, his head hanging downwards as he enjoyed the last few shivers of his pleasure before it left him completely. He drew in a heavy breath, tucked his manhood back behind the fabric of his trousers, ignoring the laces entirely, and found a rag nearby to rid his hand of his own seed. Only then did he finally lift his head back up to meet the face of the stunned young woman in his doorway. His chest was still rising and falling quickly with his heavy breaths when he stood from the chair and calmly walked towards her. His bottom jaw was shifting slightly, grinding softly to the side as he looked her over for a moment. She didn’t move, didn’t make a motion to leave or run away like he had expected the little bird to do. Her mouth was still slightly parted and he could see her bottom lip just barely trembling as she was no doubt trying to figure out what a proper lady would say in such an unexpected situation. Surely this was never something her dear Septa had taught her about. He forced back the urge to laugh as cruelly as she was used to, and settled for a satisfied smirk. His eyes burned into her with left over desire, but he addressed her as well-manneredly as a dog ever could, giving her a short nod as he rasped, “ _My Lady._ ”

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
    Sansa stood with her body still halfway hidden by the door frame but as Sandor leaned against it for support, wavering slightly in his stance, she knew there was no point in hiding anymore. He had seen her. She had certainly seen him. And despite him not addressing any of it in the least, she knew she hadn’t imagined it all in her head. _‘No…it was real.’_ As if to second guess herself, she glanced downwards between them and noticed immediately that the laces of his trousers were still hanging loose, carelessly untied. In his drunken state, he had avoided the frustrating task of retying them all together. The Hound let out a low laugh as he watched her eyes fall down below his waist. _‘The poor girl is still in shock!’_ His chuckling brought her attention back up to his face and he shook his head, still smiling at her wide eyes and slack jaw. As if reading his thoughts, Sansa closed her mouth, pressing her lips tightly together and turned defensive in her stance. The oversized man in front of her pushed himself up off the door frame and reached behind him to pull the door closed. It clicked shut and he stared down at her. “Come on, little bird. I’ll take you back to your cage.”  
  
    Remembering how he had nearly collapsed into his room earlier, and having watched him sway slightly as he approached the door before speaking to her, Sansa thought it unwise for him to be going anywhere for a while. At least not until the effects of the wine had lessened. “Are you able to walk, Ser?” The concern seemed to ooze out of every word and Sandor frowned at her tone.  
  
    Mockingly, he straightened up, dropped his brows heavily over his eyes and snarled down at her. “Aye, girl. I’m _able to walk_.” The long, echoing hallways of the castle were empty and Sansa was thankful for it. Though they didn’t speak the whole walk back to her bed chamber, she could just imagine the sort of gossip that would have circulated by dawn if anyone had spotted the Hound and her alone so late at night. A proper lady didn’t spend her evenings wandering around in the company of men, let alone the King’s dog. As they rounded the final corner and the image of her door came into view, she felt his hand grip her arm just above the elbow. She came to a halt and lifted her arm at the shoulder, but he didn’t release her from his grasp. “If you value your life, girl, you’ll not be so careless again.” Sansa made to pull her arm away again and this time he let her go. “The King won’t be pleased if his little prize is soiled before he can have his fun.”  
  
    The meaning of his warning came through harsher than she was sure he had intended. He should have known better than anyone, having saved her from those vile men when they were attacked by the mob, that she knew the risks. She knew what some men wanted to do to women, willing or not, and yet there he was, scolding her as if she were still a child. The Stark girl took a step back, closer to her bedroom door, and tried to regain her composure. “Thank you for escorting me back to my room, Ser.”  
  
    Sandor shook his head. _‘Always with her courtesies…they’ve trained the little bird well.’_ His jaw grated slightly to the side as he watched her back away. “I’m no Ser.” Sansa glanced back at him, pausing at her doorway. The Hound urged her on further. “Go back to your cage, little bird, where you can be kept safe for your beloved King.” The wine was letting his tongue loose, half warning and half mocking her as she quietly slipped behind the thick door at last.  


* * *

  
  
    The following morning was spent in a typical fashion. She broke her fast in her room while her handmaidens prepared her attire for the day. She was to spend the majority of it with the Queen, most likely working on their needlepoint, something which Sansa prided herself in. It seemed the only time that she could confidently be with Cersei without a constant fear of ridicule. That would come later of course, as they walked through the gardens, down the long castle’s corridors, and no doubt when they met with Joffrey later on in the day to feast on their midday meal. Where Joffrey seemed to become increasingly angry with her, his mother kept pulling her closer and closer into her web. She seemed to fear losing Sansa, not so much as her future daughter-in-law, but as her captive. The young Stark girl of Winterfell was nothing more than a pawn in getting her precious twin brother Jaime back.  
  
    They sat at the table quietly, Cersei sipping at her wine while Sansa tried to avoid hers. She wasn’t much of a drinker but the more time she seemed to spend with the queen, the more she noticed how much the high-born woman drank. Silently, she hoped that wasn’t somehow a requirement once she became Joffrey’s queen, though it would make her time with him slightly less unbearable. Before long, the wide doors to the dining hall slid open and the blonde young king himself strode straight towards them. “Mother.” He greeted Cersei briskly before turning his eyes to his betrothed. His mouth twitched into a cocky smirk. “Lady Sansa.” Trailing closely behind him was his guards, the most prominent one being his loyal hound. They took up their posts against the adjacent wall and fixed their eyes forward. Sandor stood with his hand resting comfortably on the hilt of his sword, sheathed securely to his waist belt. The other two guards, Ser Meryn and Ser Boros watched out of the corner of their eyes as Joffrey reached for Sansa’s hand and kissed the back of it softly, before turning their sights away.  
  
    Joffrey sat and Sansa’s eyes smoothly shifted to the Hound. Lingering just long enough on his face to realize he wasn’t going to look at her, she let her glance drop down past his chest plate and stopped at the top of his trousers. Though his tunic concealed the majority of her view, she could tell his laces were neatly assembled and tied, unlike the night before. Remembering the way his eyes burned through her, the thickness of his shaft, and the low moans that escaped him as he unraveled in front of her, she swallowed hard. She had been so distracted that she hadn’t heard Joffrey speaking to her. It wasn’t until he brought his clenched fist down on the table beside his plate that she snapped back to attention. He held her in his stare, his mouth split open just enough to where she could see his irritated expression, before glancing over at his guards. The Hound didn’t move, didn’t shift to acknowledge the young King burning a hole through him. Joffrey closed his mouth tightly and pressed his back against the support of his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and asked Sansa, “Does the Hound still scare you?” Joffrey let out a quick burst of laughter and muttered, “The ugly brute… Wait outside, dog! You’re scaring my lady.”  
  
    Sandor finally broke his stance against the wall and turned towards them. Carefully, he bent slightly, dropping his head stiffly to the King. Joffrey waved his hand, pardoning the Hound to take his leave, but when his head rose back up, his eyes weren’t on his King. Cersei was too busy drinking down her wine to notice, but as Sansa stared across the table at him, Sandor locked on to her. She knew it only lasted a few seconds but it felt like too long. The look in his eyes was the same lustful expression she had seen the night before and she suddenly felt overly exposed. Surely someone would look up, glance over at their exchange and understand the hidden message in his stare. She swallowed hard again and tried to control her breathing which had somehow quickened without her meaning it to. Straightening back up to his full height, the King’s dog did as he was told and left the room to wait outside.  
  
    It was difficult to pay complete attention to what was being said, with Sandor still on her mind, but nevertheless, the end of their meal came and went. Joffrey bid his ladies farewell as he marched through the doors, calling loudly for his dog to rejoin his group of guards once again. Sansa kept her eyes fixed on a knot in the wood of the table as they passed the open door, avoiding the temptation to glance over and catch another glimpse of the giant man who had exposed so much of himself to her.  


* * *

  
  
    Sansa watched silently as Sandor Clegane accompanied the King to dinner that evening. He took up his stance against the wall and avoided her eyes once more. He held his jaw tight and remained that way for the duration of the night. When their feast had finally come to an end and Joffrey got up to leave, she tried to catch the eye of his guard dog. As if on cue, in the final moments before they left the room, Sandor shot her a look. This time she was ready for it. She straightened her back and rested her hands calmly in her lap. She would show him that she was a proper lady. She was a daughter of Winterfell and soon, she would be queen. Unlike the woman who had offered her services to him the previous night, Sansa was not some common whore for him to toy with as he pleased.  
  
    But as strong as she willed herself to remain, his eyes nearly caused her to unravel. She felt her heart beat a little harder in her chest, rising and falling quicker as she watched his grey eyes lingering over her. He dropped his gaze and stalked out of the room after his King. Sansa finally felt herself begin to relax.  


* * *

  
  
    On the third night, the tough little bird was determined to maintain her composure no matter how the towering man chose look at her. He could stare at her the entire night for all she cared and she wouldn’t let it get inside her as it had done the past two nights. She was stronger than that. _‘Let him **try** to stir me.’_ She told herself firmly. _‘Let’s see him try.’_ This night lasted longer than the others. There was more wine, more laughing and stories being told. As the hours turned the sky from blue to black, the room had become filled with drunken Lords and their giggles, blushing Ladies. A few people had already bid their leave and exited the overcrowded dining area, leaving the seats nearest to Sansa empty. She saw her chance and stood, pushing her chair back and brushed past the empty ones beside her. It had caught Sandor off guard. He hadn’t expected her to leave so early. Normally she waited until either Joffrey or Cersei left before pardoning herself for the evening. His eyes flashed across the room, frowning as she politely dipped her head down out of respect for her King. “Your Grace.” She chirped softly and bowed just as sweetly when he allowed her to leave.  
  
    Briskly turning to make her way through the sea of chairs, tables, and drunken idiots, Sansa made a beeline for the exit when a thought came to her. She slowed her steps and curved around the end of a long table, walking parallel with one of the side walls instead. The King’s guards were staggered along its stoned surface, though Sandor was the only one standing the furthest away from the other guards. She would prove once and for all that she was the one in control. No matter what he thought, she wasn’t just some silly chirping little bird. The Hound watched as she walked up to him, expecting her to keep walking straight past him, but to his surprise, she stopped when she meet up with him. “Keep walking, girl. I’ve got nothing for you.”  
  
     _‘What is that supposed to mean?’_ Sansa frowned but pushed his statement aside, ignoring it as if he hadn’t spoken to her at all. Instead, she stared straight through him and asked flatly, “Do the Lannister’s have you all night?”  
  
    His teeth ground together as he pressed his jaw tighter behind his lips. Her wording was cause enough for offense. No one _‘had’_ him. He had sworn no oaths, unlike the foolish Knights that so gallantly pranced around the castle, swearing their swords, their lives, and their honor to the boy King. But not him. Though he may be loyal to the Lannisters and act as a Joffrey’s guard, no one could say they owned him. He let out an irritated grunt and nodded towards Joffrey, still sitting at the head table. “As soon as your Grace up there has drank his fill and decides to end his night, my shift will be over.” He leaned his face in closer to her and rasped slightly quieter, to avoid any eavesdroppers the opportunity to overhear, “Why? Planning another midnight stroll, girl?”  
  
    His eyes, the way his lips curled slightly as he spoke, and the feeling of his face bending down to meet her closer was all making it so much harder to keep her strength. Her knees began to feel weak and a twisting feeling had started in her stomach. But what was happening deeper, located down below her stomach was what threatened her most. As he leaned in closer, she caught a brief whiff of his earthy smell. The woods, the stables, left over wine that seemed to hang on him everywhere he went, and then an underlying scent that she could only guess was simply him. His skin, his hair, the manly aroma that made her want to lean in fully and close the gap between them once and for all. If it weren’t for the room full of people surrounding them, as drunk as they all were, she was certain she would have done it. That would have shocked him, would have shut him up for a while with his suggestive warnings and his intimate stares. She breathed in deep, taking his scent in one last time before taking a single step back to distance herself. That’s all he would get from her, the last ounce of leverage he would hold over her. It was her turn to take the reigns. “If you’re willing and able, I’d ask for you to stand guard outside my chambers tonight, after your duties to the King have been fulfilled for the evening of course.”  
  
    This time it was Sandor who pulled back, straightening up as he dragged his face away from her. His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what she was playing at. He thought for a moment longer before lowering his voice. “You expect me to stand outside your door all night, with you supposedly already inside?” Sansa nodded gently. The Hound examined her again, his glance flickering between her eyes and her lips. It didn’t seem right and he voiced his concern clearly. “Do you take me as a fool? You would have me guard an empty room all night just to spite me, girl. How am I to know you’re truly inside?”  
  
    “You won’t.” Sansa answered sharply. The Hound wasn’t happy. He inhaled deep through his nose and glanced around the room. A few faces darted down towards their plates when he caught them staring, but besides that, no one was watching their exchange. His eyes finally landed back on her, causing his face to harden as he debated within himself on whether or not to blindly follow the little bird’s chirping. Sansa wasted no time. “I’ll have my handmaiden dismiss you in the morning when she comes to ready me for the day.” He hadn’t agreed and yet she was speaking to him as though he had already sworn himself to her. It reminded him of Cersei Lannister and the thought irked him. Sansa was to become a queen soon and despite his secret hopes, she was bound to forget him. The days of her politely calling him _Ser_ and sprinkling her courtesies on him were nearing a close and soon, he would be nothing more than a dog to her, just like the rest of them.  


* * *

  
  
    The girl with striking red hair and bright blue Tully eyes walked gracefully back to her bed chambers. Judging by how much Joffrey had been drinking before she left, Sansa knew that it wouldn’t be more than an hour or two before he dragged himself to collapse on his feather bed and Sandor would be making his way down the corridors to stand guard outside her door. Uncertain of when exactly he would show up, assuming he would actually bring himself to come at all, Sansa dragged a chair closer to the door so she could try to hear when he arrived. With her sewing needle in one hand and the thin fabric that she had been working on in the other, she waited.  
  
    An hour and a half later, she heard heavy footsteps outside. There had been a few false alarms, people walking down the halls but the sound of their feet always came and went, passing her door without a moment’s hesitation. This pair of feet was different. Her needle and thread stilled, her hand stopping mid-pull as she silenced herself completely to try to listen to hear if it was him. She heard the footsteps approach, but didn’t hear them retreat. They shuffled for a moment, as if he were unsure of whether or not he should be there, before she heard them finally stop completely. Quietly, carefully, she got off her chair and put her needlepoint down. Tugging a hand over her mouth to mute her suddenly excited breathing, Sansa pressed an ear against the door’s sturdy surface. Either it was too hard to hear him or he wasn’t making any noises, so she did the next best thing she could think of. She lowered herself onto her knees and pressed her palms against the floor. Her head followed, bending at her middle and bringing herself as close to the floor as she could. She peaked under the opening of the door. _‘Feet!’_ He had come.  
  
    She got up in a hurry and tried to think of what she had planned to do next. She had debated using the chair or her bed, the chair being closer, therefore she wouldn’t have to be as loud, but the bed was much softer and it would make it easier for her to relax. After a split second decision, she moved over to the bed and laid down. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, thumping against her ribcage like a tiny little hummingbird. She had already rid herself of her smallclothes while waiting for him to come, but now that she was lying on the bed, she found herself uncertain of where to begin. No doubt boys had always been experienced by the time they were her age since they were bound to have had a go at themselves on occasion, but it was a very different experience for a Lady, more importantly, an _unwed_ Lady. Thinking of what she had seen the Hound doing when she discovered him in his bed chamber, she started with the obvious. Slowly, Sansa drew her hand down her stomach and found her sex. She kept her eyes on the ceiling and let her fingers explore. It felt _different_ from just touching her arm or her legs. It wasn’t entirely overwhelming, but she could see the potential. As she traced her fingertips up and down, running them along her now moistening folds, she squirmed and readjusted her hand. The more she touched, the more sensitive her flesh seemed to become. A feeling began to build up inside of her, centering somewhere deeper than she was used to. Her core was aching, urging for her to continue, to explore more and more until she found the sweet spot she was searching for. It felt so good. _‘You’re not making any noise…’_ She remembered the task at hand. Though finding her own release was an extra bonus, her goal was standing outside her door.  
  
    Throwing her head back against her pillows and trying to sound as natural as possible, Sansa let out what she had hoped to be a sexy, sultry, womanly moan. Instead, her meek little voice gave her a soft whimper. Her cheeks flushed as she heard her own failed attempt. She took a deep breath and tried again. It was louder, but still not the sound she was looking for. _‘Come on…you need to mean it!’_ She was growing frustrated. He had made it look so easy, sitting there with his eyes glazed over and his mouth barely parted. He had already been aroused by the time she saw him, but he was enjoying himself with such little effort. She was making it too complicated. Sansa took in another breath and slipped a finger into her delicate opening. She hissed out a breath. It felt so wet, so tight, but as her gentle finger grazed softly against her inner walls, it made her legs quiver. She closed her eyes and tried it again, moving slowly in and out, getting used to the sensation. Her thoughts fell back to the other night in his bed chamber. He had seen her. He had watched her as he stroked himself and when he finally exploded in front of her, he had been thinking of her. Now, _she_ was thinking of _him_. She tried to remember the way that he smelled tonight in the dining hall. His voice had sent chills through her and as she recalled the sound of his nickname for her coming from his lips, she let out a soft cry. _‘Little Bird,’_ he had called her. She pushed her finger in deeper.  
  
    What had he been thinking of, as he stared at her and pleasured himself? She tried to think of the possibilities. _Had he thought she would step forward and join him?_ She felt her muscles tighten around her finger. She was getting used to the size and feel of it. Hesitantly, she slipped it out and added a second finger to the first. They filled her, and yet they were still so much smaller than she could remember him being. His cock had become so heavy, so thick that it made her doubt whether he could really fit it all inside a woman or not. Her fingers kept working small circles against her core as she let out another noise, this one louder than the last. She still wasn’t sure if he could hear her and continued. She had guessed what he had fantasized about-- taking her, having her all for himself and tasting every inch of her soft, delectable skin. But his time was over. It was her turn now. He had already reached his peak, she had seen it first hand. Every day, he had looked at her with those lustful eyes, no doubt imagining his fantasies with her all over again, remembering the way her eyes couldn’t look away as he stroked himself for her.  
  
    Sansa thought more boldly. She had intended on teasing him, letting him hear her, knowing he couldn’t do a thing about it. She was already promised to the Lannisters, meant to wed Joffrey, and as Joffrey’s dog, Sandor had no claim to her. No matter how much she whimpered and moaned, cried out and called out in pleasure, he would be the one standing by the doorway this time. Surely he’d want her. He’d feel himself getting hard at the sound of her behind her bedroom door and at the first chance he gets, he’d hurry back to his own bed chambers and take himself in hand once more for her. The thought made her smile greedily. But she wanted _more_. She dug her heels into the feather bed and tried to mimic how she imagined she might feel. His hands would be rougher, calloused and scarred. He’d grab her roughly and pull her close to him. She remembered his musky scent again and imagined it all over her, covering her bed sheets and pillows. She’d smell him for days afterwards and remember how his body felt against hers. Maybe he’d even be bold enough to lean down and bring his lips to hers. The scarred, burnt side of his face would feel rougher, she imagined, ragged against her smooth, even, pink lips.  
  
    A sudden, enticing thought found her as she found the bud of nerves at the top of her slit, just above the opening. She nearly jerked in surprise as a jolt of pleasure ran through her. She had been thinking of his lips and couldn’t help but wonder how they would feel…down against her northern lips. The stubble of his beard would tickle her thighs as his lips ran over her dripping folds. She’d squirm and moan, gripping the bed sheets to keep herself steady, but he’d pin her down. The weight of him on her would keep her as still as she could manage. But with his tongue reaching out and slowly dragging over her opening, tracing over that bundle of nerves, it would throw her over the edge. Would he give her the release she’d be surely begging him for at that point, or would be continue to tease her?  
  
    His lips would draw her into his mouth as a hand reaches up and finds a breast. Sansa cupped her own breast and quickly realized how sensitive these hardening red buds were as well. She let out a throaty moan and plunged her fingers inside her again. She went back to her fantasy, needing to reach her satisfaction so badly now that she’d gone thus far. Her eyes tightened as she thought of him slipping a finger inside her. His hands were so large, one finger would stretch her, let alone two or even three. He’d have her on her back, legs spread wide as he expertly played her like an instrument. He’d bring his head down to her shoulder, kissing and gently biting his way over her collarbone, up her neck, and under her earlobe. _“More…”_ Her thoughts became vocalized as she moaned out the word. Surely he heard it. She must have been driving him wild right outside her door. Would he leave his post early and go relieve himself or would he want to stay longer, hoping to hear her reach her climax? She was so close…  


* * *

**_Sandor._ **

  
  
    Sandor Clegane grumbled under his breath as he left the corridor leading to Joffrey’s bedchambers. Just as expected, the boy King had drank too much and passed out before even reaching his room. The Hound had to lift him in his arms and carry him the rest of the way before plopping him down—perhaps a little rougher than necessary—onto his bed, and leaving the room. He cursed the King in his silent thoughts. The boy was cruel and hateful. Taking such a pretty little thing like the Stark girl and practically ruining her just for the fun of it. She was sweet and polite, her head filled with songs of knights and flowers. Why couldn’t he let her be? _‘The little prick…’_ Sandor had tried to talk himself out of it but his feet seemed to carry him down the stretch of hallways that lead to her sleeping quarters. She had warned him that she would already be inside when he got there, but he had a nagging urge to just crack open the door a hair and peak inside, just to make sure she was safely inside. _‘You’ve already gone too far, toying with her the other night. Do you **want** them to string you up on a rope come morning? Foolish old dog…’_ He paced impatiently in front of her door, unable to decide whether she was really worth the risk.  
  
    He settled in front of the door, still silently cursing himself for stupidly landing himself there tonight. He slouched down against the surface of the door and crossed his arms over his chest. It was going to be a very long night and if he found out that the room behind him was in fact empty after all, he would need far more wine than the Red Keep’s kitchens could even hold. The minutes passed by slowly but as the King’s guard, he was used to standing around for hours doing nothing in particular. It was how he had first really gotten the chance to get a good look at Sansa. With nothing better to do and her so close to his proximity, it only made sense for him to watch her smile and say sweet things to everyone she came in contact with. He looked at her hair and wondered how it would smell if he could get close enough to bring a lock up to his nose. She probably smelled like lemon cakes, she ate enough of the damned things. _‘Fuck…stop thinking about her, dog. She’s not for you.’_ He cursed himself again.  
  
    He was just trying to think of a better topic to mull over when he heard her first true cry. The others were too soft to hear, but this one rang straight through the door and he froze. His face twisted as he tried to decipher what the noise meant. _‘Is someone in the room with her?’_ was his first thought. Jealousy raged through him and he shifted in his stance. So the little bird had found herself a nest mate. _‘Good for her,’_ he growled angrily. The way she stared at him the other night as he took himself in hand, Gods know the girl needed someone to satisfy her. _‘Joffrey sure isn’t going to be able to do it.’_ He nearly chuckled at his own strike at the King when another sound came from the room. He stiffened. This one definitely sounded… intimate. His bottom jaw shifted tighter and he pressed his crossed arms closer to his chest. _‘Is it that prancing knight of flowers?’_ Sandor wondered curiously. _‘Is that why she’s asked me here tonight? To hear what I can’t have?’_   His face grew cold as the bitterness spread through him. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was getting hard. The front of his trousers tightened and strained at the heavy weight of his manhood and he adjusted his stance again, the ache beginning to become a bother as he stood out in the hallway.  
  
     _‘Let him bloody have her then. It’ll be his head up there on the spikes next, not mine.’_ The Hound snorted as he glanced back at the door behind him. She’d see how gallant her knights are then when her bloody lover-boy is begging the King for mercy for touching the little bird. Another lusty moan exited the room and drifted to his ears just as he realized he hadn’t actually heard the damned knight at all. She was the only one he had been overhearing. He let out a low chuckle at his false assumptions and shook his head in disbelief. She must have asked him to guard her door so that no one would walk in and catch her toying with herself. _‘What a coy little bird…’_ But the more he thought about it, the harder he got. Just beyond that door, Sansa was pleasuring herself. She could have been nude even, her perky tits bouncing as she fucked her tight little cunt. Sandor shifted again, the thoughts of what exactly she was doing behind that door was beginning to take its toll on him. He nearly growled with desire when her next whimper and cry reached him out in the hallway.  
  
    “Fuck.” He rasped when she got louder. _‘What in the seven hells is she trying to do to me?’_ A dark thought approached him but he forced it aside. He ought to teach her a lesson, not to go around moaning with a man standing right outside her door. _‘I’m not my brother…I can’t do that.’_ He began to feel ashamed for even thinking of forcing himself on her, but then another passionate groan filled the corridor surrounding him and he cursed under his breath one last time and turned to the door. _‘Surely she wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave her door unbarred…’_ His hand rested on the handle for a moment before slowly giving it a twist. It turned and he swore again. He wanted to stop, wanted to be the good dog that he knew he was capable of being, but she was leading him there herself, drawing him in, and with the door unbarred, that was the last sign he needed. He entered the room quietly and nearly choked on his own saliva when he saw her writhing form on the bed. Her cheeks were flushed and her hand was buried between her legs. The room smelled of arousal and he smiled when he realized she smelled as sweet as he had imagined.  
  
    He nearly tripped over the chair she had left beside the door. As quietly as he could, he sat down and watched. There were small beads of sweat resting on her brow and though her eyes were closed tightly, he could tell she was concentrating on something in particular. He thought for a moment he saw her nose twitch and sniff at the air for a second but why would she do that? He leaned back in the chair and began to undo the laces of his trousers. If she was having her pleasure, he might as well as his and tiptoe out of the room before she could even notice he had been there. It would be a little keepsake for him to think back upon when he was left alone in his bed chamber late at night. _‘If that’s how you need to justify sneaking into the poor girl’s room during an intimate moment…’_ His guilt began to roar its ugly head but she let out another soft whimper as he watched her move her hips with the thrusts of her fingers and he knew he couldn’t go anywhere, not until he could see her unwind and release. Then, he’ll slink back out the door and pretend he hadn’t stumbled across anything out of the ordinary. It would be their little secret.  
  
    Sandor couldn’t take his eyes off her and as he watched, he took himself in hand and tried to match her movements, as if joined for that single simple moment of ecstasy. Then, he heard her. Up until then, she had only made noises, groans, grunts, and sweet little moans, but just as he was nearing his edge, she breathed out weakly, _‘More.’_ His hand stilled for a moment to watch her. She was so beautiful, her face scrunched as she tried so hard to reach her climax but kept coming up short. He wanted to help her, wanted to show her all of his tricks and let her see how a real man is meant to feel around her, inside her. __‘_ She’s not your’s, dog. Keep your hands to yourself if you plan on keeping them.’_ Growing frustrated, he needed to get rid of this damned hard-on. He was busy stroking, trying to keep his eyes open so as to match her pace again, when she breathed out her second word, softer and more lucid than the first. **_“Sandor.”_** He stopped.  



	3. Chapter 3

     His breathing hitched midway down his throat as his hand hovered cautiously over his lap, still holding himself stiffly against his palm. His eyes held onto her small frame atop the soft bed covers across the room. She was still writhing, still trying with a new desperation to find her final pleasure so she could collapse against her pillows at last, content and satisfied. _'What did she just say?'_ Sandor asked himself in disbelief. He had imagined it, heard only what he wanted to hear and not the actual truth. In reality, the girl must have simply moaned and to his ears, it came out sounding like his name. He was trying to convince himself of it, but he had heard it so clearly that he couldn't shake it out of his head no matter how many times he cursed himself and reminded himself that he was nothing more than the King's dog. What would she want with him?

 

_'You're going too far... sitting in the soon-to-be queen's room, watching her in such an indecent position. The King will have your head for this, fool.'_ He meant to tear his eyes away from the bed, to stand up, tuck himself back behind the laces of his breeches, and leave without another thought, but he could only look away for a second before returning back to her. His head tilted to the side slightly as he realized he could see her dampness all the way from across the room every time she pulled her fingers away from her opening to run them up to the sensitive nub between her thighs. The scarred side of his face twitched involuntarily as a devilish grin grew over his lips and he repeated his previous thought with renewed desire. _'Such an indecent position, little bird…'_

 

     The flush of her cheeks had deepened as she squirmed against the bed covers, trying to reach her climax. Her eyes pressed closed tighter as she thought she may have reached her max. With so little experience to use as judgment, she wasn't entirely sure what she expected. She knew her final release wouldn't be as visual as Sandor's, but she hoped it would at least give her the same sense of utter peace and relaxation that she had seen on his face afterwards. She tried to remember the way he had stared at her, not only that night in his bed chamber but the following days afterwards. The way he undressed her with his eyes right there in front of Joffrey and Cersei during their midday meal. Perhaps they were too busy to notice but surely Ser Meryn and Ser Boros had spotted the heated, silent exchange between the blushing Lady and the King's Hound. Had they dared address him with it later, to remind him of his place, his lower status, and to warn him not to lose his head over a girl? _'No,'_ Sansa thought. _'Everyone's afraid of him. Too afraid to even look at him, let alone tell him what he can't have.'_ As she laid with her back against the fluffy feather bed, Sansa wished he was there with her instead of ordered to stand outside her door. She had been so cruel, taunting him from inside her bed chambers when she knew he had to restrain himself. For all she knew, it may be frustrating enough to give him cause to pick up a whore for the night. If she wasn't able to warm his bed, some other girl with bright blue eyes and fiery red hair would be just as willing for the right amount of coin. The thought bothered her. She kept working her fingers against her skin, slipping inside to feel the shuttering sensation within her core. If he were with her now, she would show him that she was different from them all. She would look at him when no one else could, see straight through him and leave him wanting for nothing. She'd be all the woman he'd need and she wouldn't ask for a piece of gold in return.

 

     She was going deeper, getting lost in her thoughts. He could tell by the way her hand seemed to move with a mind of its own. She wasn't the one touching herself now, in her mind. There was someone else she was thinking of. Sandor watched, guiding his own hand down the length of his shaft as he held his own images of what he wanted her to be thinking of. He wanted to be the one she dreamt of, the one caressing and loving her. He would take her the way she deserved, the only way a true Lady could be taken. Not like the whores he had bedded in the past— turning them over and taking them from behind like the dog that he was. No, she needed more than that. He wanted to drag his fingertips down her arms, over the ticklish sides of her stomach, hovering lightly over her womanly bits, and continue down her long, endless legs. They hadn't been kissed by the summer sun like the rest of her exposed skin had been during her time here in King's Landing. Her long gowns and dresses had hidden them safely away from prying eyes but now he got to see all of her. If given the chance, he would lavish her body with his lips, ignoring the fact that half his mouth was ruined by the scar he had to endure, and he would know that he was the reason she'd be squirming against the feather bed. He'd whisper to her, telling her every sinful act he wanted to do to her, all the while massaging the thickness of her upper thighs. _'It'd make her wet,'_ he thought. _'Being touched and teased.'_ She'd need some coaxing if he wanted to fit inside her. The little bird was untouched and with his sheer size, his thick fingers alone would be too much for her. He'd take his time, kissing her passionately until she was moaning against him, needing more. His hot breath would leave her, grazing along her jawline and making her skin prickle and shiver. If only he could touch her instead of being forced to sit silently across the room, soundlessly watching.

 

     Sandor looked over at the bed, drawing an invisible trail with his eyes down her long, fair neck where he wanted to leave his marks. One right below her ear, behind the lobe where the skin was most tender. Another on the side against the rapid thumping of her pulse. He'd feel it beating against his tongue and do everything he could to refrain from taking her then and there. One more deep red reminder would be placed delicately in the crook of her neck where her flesh curved against her collarbone and met with the shoulder. She'd be wearing him for days and every time she'd look in the mirror, she'd remember how it felt to have him so close to her, in her room, on her bed, with his fingers lingering where no man's fingers should be. _'None except her_ _ **beloved**_ _king's.'_ His thoughts mulled over in his head as he tried to warn himself again not to go any further than he already had. _'She doesn't want him, doesn't love him anymore. Not after the cruelty he's shown her.'_ The Hound's eyes rolled closed as he leaned back against the chair and felt the sensation of his own warm fingers encircling around him. _'I'll love her for him. Keep her happy, keep her safe. I'll never be cruel to her as he has.'_ his thoughts became weaker as he tried to convince himself of the false life he had wanted for so long. _'…and she'll love me for it.'_

 

     Her whispered groans and hushed moans brought him back to the girl lying on the bed in front of him. He was getting close and judging by the frustrated, tired look on her face, she was too. _'Just get on with it, dog, so you can leave her in peace.'_ He urged himself inaudibly, hurrying the pace of his hand around his engorged member. The sooner he found his release, the sooner he could sneak back out of the room without her catching him and calling for the castle's knights to drag his perverse self out of her bed chambers. His eyes began to flutter close as he let his head drop back to rest heavily against the door behind him. He wanted to moan with her, let her know what she was doing to him, but he had to silence himself. The two toyed with themselves for another few strokes before he heard her again. " _ **Sandor.**_ " It was surrounded by sweet little noises, but he had heard it, he was sure of it this time. He couldn't have possibly imagined it twice so definitively. _She was thinking of him._ _She wanted him._

 

     It was a sign, he had decided in that split second. A sign that she wanted him just as he wanted her. Even if it was just the vocalization of her lust-driven fantasies, it was all he wanted to know. He stood from the chair and felt his mouth go dry as he strode wide paces across the room to her bed. Her face was still scrunched, her eyes closed as she worked her fingers deeper into her craving slit. He didn't want to startle her, didn't want to make her stop—she looked so unrestrained as she carelessly tossed her head to the side, her mouth hanging open as the little noises escaped her. He didn't want to ruin it, but he needed to touch her, if only for a moment. _'Careful, dog…you don't want her screaming bloody murder and waking the whole damned castle.'_ His heart pounded against his chest as he slowly reached down and cupped her small hand with his own. Her eyes flashed open, suddenly aware that she wasn't alone, and her hand stopped. Sandor frowned down at her. He hadn't wanted her to stop and now, the way she was looking up at him, he knew he had made a mistake. He had read all the signs wrong. He was unwelcomed and worst of all, he hadn't even bothered to tuck his hardened cock back into his breeches before approaching her. _'You fool…_ ' There was no hiding his intentions. He was a dead man, no matter how he handled his current predicament.

 

     Sansa peered up at him through clouded eyes, unsure of whether or not she was dreaming. Perhaps she had been trying to reach her peak so hard for so long that she simply grew tired and had fallen asleep with him still consuming her thoughts. He was meant to be standing outside, as she had bid him to do earlier in the evening. She was teasing him, showing him that the wolf in her was just as strong and dangerous as the hound in him. And yet the hand covering her own felt so real, so hard and rough, yet warm and comforting. Her bottom lip quivered nervously, her eyes staying locked with his. Slowly, gently, her hand began its movement again, taking him along for the ride. He was dumbfounded and aroused all at once. He wanted to bring a knee down onto the bed beside her, drawing himself closer to her so he could feel her, see her, smell her, but he knew that would surely be going too far. _Wouldn't it?_

 

     The movement of her fingers was shifting his hand, dragging his fingertips over her folds, causing her to moan louder, deeper, and as he glanced down away from her face to watch their digits gliding together, he started to feel her wetness coating the side of one of his fingers. He hadn't entered her but the friction as his hand ran over her lips and touched her own soiled fingers had left him with her left overs. He looked back up at her face, shooting her an unrecognizable stare as he watched what he couldn't have. The girl was so engulfed in her own pleasure, surely she wouldn't notice if he slipped his hand away from hers, if only for a moment. _'Just for a moment…'_ he warned himself sharply. He pulled his arm back, his hand leaving her center, and brought his fingers up to his ruined mouth. His eyes closed as his tongue ran over his own index finger, tasting her on him. It was too much. She tasted too sweet, smelled even sweeter, and when he opened his eyes to peer back down at her angelic face, she was watching him with intrigue. Her lips curled upwards beautifully into a smile and he nearly weakened at the knees when she softly called up to him, " _ **Sandor, please.**_ "

 

     He growled, his patience and self-restrain thrown aside. _'Fuck Joffrey. Fuck the Queen.'_ His mind raced. He may be a fool for bringing himself so close to the King's Lady but he'd be twice the fool for not giving her what she so clearly needed, what she was begging him for. No man could resist her with the way she sounded as she whimpered out his name. His knees hit the feather bed, one falling on the outside of her right thigh seconds before the other planted directly between her legs. His cloak went first, nearly torn from him as he freed himself of the heavy material. With an impatient twist of his torso as his arms lifted over his head, Sandor pulled his tunic off and tossed it aside just as sloppily. He pressed a palm flatly against the pillow beside her head and brought his face down to hers, joining at the lips. If he didn't hurry, she might change her mind. She might tell him to get off of her, to withdraw from her deliciously bare flesh and leave her room. He needed to show her that he could please her, that he _would_ please her. His lips grazed hers for a second before he felt her pressing back against him. Her free hand had reached up to wrap around his neck, resting her forearm gently on his broad shoulder. She twisted his hair between her fingers and pulled him further down onto her, needing more. He obeyed.

 

     She felt a large hand wrap around her hand that was still buried between her legs, and cause it to withdraw. Sansa let out a disapproving grunt of protest but it was muffled weakly against his wrecked mouth. As if reading her needs straight from her mind, Sandor moved his hand back to the warmth of her entrance. A thick, steady finger hastily replaced her smaller, thinner one, and she moaned at the excitingly blatant difference in size. She felt him smile against her lips. His mouth fell away from hers as he caught his breath and she felt his weight shift as he lowered himself down onto the bed beside her, still managing to keep his face above hers. He wanted to see her, wanted to watch her as he played with her below her waist. She was so close to her release but he didn't want it to be over so quickly. This might be the last night he would get to spend with her, the last night of his life entirely if the King found out about their experiences together. If he was going to make her scream, it would be his name on her lips, but not until he explored every bit of her. Sandor's hand withdrew.

 

     Sansa pouted weakly and he felt her hips buck up in an attempt to keep him within her. He was sure she would have protested further, if he hadn't returned his mouth to hers just as his fingers left her. She seemed to melt beneath him. It sent waves down his spine and straight to his groin. If she kept squirming and wiggling beneath him like she was, this wasn't going to last as long as he'd hoped. He had to keep her still. Breaking their kiss, he brought his body to hover over her, his chest above hers and his hips teasingly brushing against her waist. He lowered his face down to her chest and walked his forearms down the bed covers until he had inched his way comfortably between her breasts. The stubble of his beard brushed over her delicate, pale skin and she started to squirm again. He felt himself harden, the weight of his erection tugging down against the opening of his breeches. Swiftly kicking them off his long legs and down to the base of her bed, Sandor rid himself of the confining garment at last, the ache beginning to build inside him once more. He had to push it from his mind otherwise he couldn't concentrate on the task at hand.

 

     It was his hot breath that she felt first, followed by the incredibly tender muscles of his tongue, before his entire mouth dropped down and covered her right nipple. Her back arched as the unfamiliar sensation shivered through her. She had never imagined a man touching her in any way other than with the thought of procreation in mind. The breasts were meant for nursing newborns, not… ' _this,_ ' she thought breathlessly, unable to find a word for what he was doing to her. But it felt so amazingly good. She didn't want him to stop. He felt her hand come to rest on the back of his head, a gentle gesture to urge him to continue. She was wanting him, _needing_ him, and how could he stand to deny her? His queen. His hand lowered back down to her opening. She moaned and he could have sworn he could feel the beating of her heart beneath his tongue quicken and skip as he entered her. He growled against her flesh and shifted to her left teat, giving it the same lavish pampering as the right. She was clenching and straining around his finger, her slick folds proving to be just as alive with desire as her eyes had been moments ago. _'Fuck._ ' Sandor cursed as he felt the head of his cock become wet with his own desire. He felt her pressing her hips upwards, trying to get him closer to her, bringing his hand deeper against her core. His head lifted to find her eyes. They were just barely open, deep blue orbs peaked at him under her lids and when she saw him looking up at her, she smiled. He propped himself back up on his elbow and brushed his lips against her neck. He wanted to mark her so badly, but if the King saw her with love bites littering her sacred flesh, he'd hang them both. Sandor pulled his lips back over his teeth, disgruntled at their limitations, and lowered his head so that his forehead rested gently against her shoulder. She could feel his breath tickling the curve of her neck and she nuzzled towards him with her cheek. Sandor's eyes closed as he swore, this time aloud. "Fuck." She could feel him burying his face closer to her neck, wanting to take her but fighting the urge the entire time. "Tell me to stop, little bird." He rasped beside her ear. A bitter thought took him over as he told himself for the umpteenth time that he couldn't have her. He _shouldn't_ have her. She wasn't his. He turned his face away from her shoulder and grazed his lips seductively over her earlobe, knowing it would send shivers straight down to where his hand was still toying with her. "Tell me to leave so one of your gallant knights can give you what I can't." He tightened his eyes shut as could feel the need taking over him. If she remained silent much longer, he knew she may not be able to stop him when she finally came her senses and realized it was the hound she had in her bed and not some pretty prince. But he couldn't do that, couldn't take her when she didn't want it freely from him. He wasn't his brother. He refused to force her, but he knew they were toeing a dangerous line. His cheek, the burnt, ruined side, met with the side of her cheek as he breathed in the sweet smell of her hair. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll leave." He pleaded with her.

 

     Her voice was soft, whispering back to him, the desire still dripping off her tongue. "But I do want it." She turned her head towards him and stole a tender kiss from his lips. " _Stay, please._ " Her hand reached up and cupped the side of his face, the wrecked, rough side that no woman had ever dared touch. Not even the whores he paid to pretend to enjoy him had wanted that side of him. He took them from behind to spare them the sight of his scars, but she seemed unbiased to his disfigurement. She focused on what his fingers were doing to her and when his eyes finally opened as he lifted his head to look at her, she was staring right back at him. Behind the desire and need of her big blue Tully eyes, he saw the fear of an unwedded maiden. "Be gentle." She warned softly, knowing that her words meant very little as a man his size had her so defensively on her back. In response, Sandor twisted his finger out of her and moistened his cock with the leftover juices on his hand. His lips found her neck again, sprinkling the sensitive skin with light fluttering kisses. He could pin her down and take her with little regard for her feelings or her pain, but she knew he wouldn't. "You won't hurt me."

 

     It had come out so quietly, he almost mistook her but as he brought his eyes back to hers, pulling his mouth away from her throat, he saw that she was honestly concerned, her tone a mixture of uncertainty and innocence, with a subtle lacing of confidence buried deep down underneath. She wanted to believe he wouldn't cause her pain but her time in King's Landing had taught her nothing but pain. The pain from the knights of the King's Guard as they beat her on Joffrey's order. The pain as Joffrey himself hit her for not looking at her deceased father's head. It was all she was beginning to expect from men and yet somewhere deep down in her soft little chirping, he could hear the tiny bit of hope that she still held on to. The Hound gazed down at her, examining her for a moment longer before kissing her hard, deepening their embrace with the lift of his chin and the feeling of his tongue against hers between them. When they finally broke apart, he rasped, "No, little bird. I won't hurt you."

 

     With a gentleness she hadn't expected from the Hound, she felt the silken smoothness of his lower head rub slowly up and down her slit, gathering any extra amounts of her natural lubricant that it could, before slipping inside her sex. He heard her gasp as she felt him enter her and met her with a low groan pressed against her throat. He needed to taste her, to smell her, to _feel_ her. His mouth returned to hers as he began to move his hips, lowering them down as he eased himself into her. He felt her tighten and knew he would regret taking her maidenhead in the morning, but for now, it was worth every risk in the world. If the King took him up to the ropes the moment the sun rose, he could at least say he died a happy man. But she felt so damned tight. Their lips parted and he breathed out, "Relax." She couldn't. It wasn't her fault. Her body naturally defended against intrusions of this sort. He would have to take his time and let her wait until she could bare him moving against her, even if it killed him.

 

     His hand lowered down to her waist, resting on her curves as he stilled his hips. Every so often, he shifted to the side or urged forward slightly, but he'd stopped every time he saw her wince or tighten her jaw in pain. He hated hurting her, so he went slowly. As he shifted the weight of his waist again, he felt a little more moisture form between them and willed himself not to look down. The sight of red would only cause her to panic and give him a guilt that he couldn't stand to bear under the current circumstances. He just needed her to be happy. He needed her to relax and melt away with him. He just needed her to let him love her. His hips had waited for what felt like forever, so long that when she finally started moving beneath him, inching her sex slowly away, and then bringing it back to him, it caught him by surprise. "I'm okay." She chirped softly beneath him when she felt him try to steady her.

 

     ' _The worst is over,'_ Sandor told himself as he felt her begin to relax her thighs, allowing him to enter her freely. The initial pain was subsiding, nothing left behind except a dull ache where her previously untouched muscles were now being explored. He reached an arm down and wrapped it underneath her back, pulling her upwards as he brought his back down against the sheets. They had reversed positions and as Sansa's upper body laid on top of his chest, he took advance of their close proximity and stole another kiss. "Sit up." He told her, guiding her up with his hands on her hips. "Fuck," he exhaled as she sat back, sheathing his manhood inside her completely as she moved. His eyes had closed with the sensation and when he opened them, he saw her smiling down at him as she started making little circular movements with her hips, grinding against his pelvis. His head fell back against the pillow as he pressed his eyes closed again. _'If she only knew the things she's doing to me,'_ Sandor felt his fingertips tighten, gripping the curves of her hips as he tried to orchestrate her movements on top of him.

 

     But as he tried to slow her rhythm, tried to guide her to match his own pace, he realized she was forming a rhythm of her own. His eyes drew up the porcelain skin of her torso and fell on her face. He was surprised to see her eyes staring down at him, watching his face through bedroom eyes. His marked cheek twitched. _'How can she stomach to look at me and still want to…'_ His thoughts were cut off as Sansa leaned forward, planting her palms firmly against the thick muscles of his chest, giving her a deeper angle of him to enjoy. His head fell back again, his eyelids dropping closed, and his massive hands slid down her sides until he felt the roundness of her bottom against his palms. Sandor let out a deep groan as his hands kneaded her against him, grinding into her every time she rocked her hips back with his.

 

     Without warning, Sansa leaned down, her hardened nipples brushing against his furred chest, and kissed him. She felt like the seven heavens. Her warmth wrapped tightly around his shaft, the way her hair fell down over him and brushed his neck and cheek as she kissed him, and her lips. _'Oh gods,'_ he thought. Her lips parted his effortlessly, wanting to taste him, wanting to capture his breath and breathe it into her lungs, taking him with her where ever she went. She didn't seem to mind the way the scored side of his lips felt rougher than the unscathed portion. And when he brought his hand to rest against the back of her neck, deepening their embrace and forcing his tongue against hers, she didn't pull away. She didn't refuse. Instead, he felt her hand press against the ruined side of him unbiased as she joined in his fevered excitement.

 

     ' _She_ _ **wants**_ _you.'_ His scolding and self-loathing warnings had vanished somewhere between hearing her blissful moans and the feel of her face so close to his. His mind rushed with all the lustful desires he wanted with her, now that he had her. _'Be a good dog and show her what a real man feels like.'_ Sandor groaned deep in his throat; he was sure she could feel it vibrate straight through his chest and into hers. Their lips parted as he lifted her off of him. Confusion and longing flashed over her eyes when she felt him slip out of her, but he wouldn't leave her empty for long. Sandor twisted their positions once more, laying her flat on her back as he pushed himself up on his forearms, lingering his stretched body over hers. She could feel his erection pressing against her opening and wanted to feel him back inside her, but he held her immobilized with his eyes. They bore into her and despite her lack of clothes, she felt more naked in front of him than she had thought possible. His head lowered, his lips seeking hers, but as they met, he let them only brush gently before pulling back and going instead for her jawline. He laced her skin with a stream of brisk kisses and stopped at her ear. She could feel him breathing heavily against her neck and it sent shivers down her spine. She needed him inside her, needed him to finish what he had started. Sandor rasped his demands. "I want to hear you chirp, little bird. Will you sing your song for me?"

 

     He was teasing her. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes, lifting her chin in frustration as she felt him rubbing the head of his cock up and down her slick folds. Sansa moaned and tried to pull his hips down between her long legs but it was like trying to move a mountain. His stormy grey eyes still staring down at her, Sandor reached down with his hand and hooked her leg into the crook of his right arm. She was limber enough already, Sandor mused deviously. _'She'll be walking on wobbly legs when I'm done with her.'_ The thought made his cheek twitch as he grinned down at her. Her pouty pink lips, those clear blue Tully eyes, and her sweet smelling auburn hair. She was all his, if only for the night. When she tried to buck her hips down towards him again, he let her. He slipped inside her sweet opening and dropped his hand back down on the feather bed by her side, leaving her leg pressing up against the right side of his chest. It left her open for him and as he thrust himself into her for the first time, she audibly gasped, feeling him filling her completely in the single stroke. She tightened around him with a moan and felt him pulling back out of her. Before she could shift towards him again, he was back inside her, harder and quicker than the first thrust. Sansa cried out. Sandor grunted as he picked up his pace.

 

     At first, she was like a ragdoll, just letting her body get used to him while she enjoyed the fleeting kisses he left over the skin of her shoulders and chest. But as Sandor began to feel himself losing his rhythm, his thrusts and lunges becoming sloppy and primal, Sansa's other leg found its way up to his hip, wrapping around his waist desperately. It drove him mad, feeling her tiny body clinging to him as she tightened and spasm around his shaft. "Sing." He growled, dipping his head down to her chest and suckling her nipple into his mouth. His tongue danced around the hardened bud as his teeth grazed around its edges dangerously. Her eyes pinched closed, and her bottom jaw slacked loosely. The little bird sang.

 

     Sandor felt her squeeze around him, both with her legs and her womanly flower, sending his own orgasm spiraling to the surface. He couldn't place whether it was the sweet, peaceful gaze in her half-lidded eyes that got him, or her delicious moaning, but in the last second, he pulled himself out of her, cursing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" His body lurched forward, his cock pressed tightly between their bodies just above her belly button. His face twitched and winced, not only his scarred side, and she felt his warm release shoot between them on her stomach. He froze as his body rode out the last legs of his climax. As he felt himself softening at last, his breathing still harsh and uncontrolled but beginning to steady, Sandor rose up on his palms, arms straight as he gave some distance between their bodies while he hovered over her. He looked down at his seed still smeared on her stomach, as well as his, and cursed once again. "Fuck…I didn't want…" He pushed himself off of her and rolled over on the bed beside her. Grabbing the first piece of fabric he found—his cloak which he had carelessly discarded at the foot of her bed when their exchange became heated—Sandor tried to drape it over her midsection respectfully. He wiped his own stomach roughly with his hand until his cum became less visible. "If you're found carrying a bastard, they'll sooner slit your throat than bother with a formal hanging."

 

     Sansa frowned. He was known for spoking bluntly, harsh and direct, but always honestly. She nodded silently and rubbed his scratchy cloak against her abdomen until she felt as clean as she could be. They laid besides each other as their breathing slowly returned to normal, their bodies still covered in a thin coating of fresh sweat. So much time had passed without a word that Sansa had thought Sandor had fallen asleep. She realized she was wrong only when he broke their silence with a question. "What will you do with the bed sheets?"

 

     It was a simple enough question but Sansa hadn't even begun to think of it as she laid there beside him, still enjoying the endorphin rush from their tussle. She shook off his question with the first thing she could think of. "I'll say I've had my moon blood."

 

     They fell mute again as they both thought. Sansa turned over onto her side and draped a hand over his broad chest. This small bit of affection, following so closely after what he had just done to the poor girl—entering her room without permission and taking her maidenhead when he had no claim to it, made his heart beat quicken all over again. Still, the sudden concern for what he had done wouldn't leave him and he refused to let her think she was safe when he had put her in so much more dangerous than she would have ever been in without him. _'Damned dog, you've soiled her and now no one will have her. The King will have her hung for this!'_ Sandor brought his hand to his chest to cover hers, enjoying the feel of her so close to him. "Joffrey may be stupid enough not to notice you've been bedded, but the Queen and her examiners won't. They'll check to see if you're fit to be wed as a maiden before the King will have you, and when they realize I've…" he hesitated, not wanting it to sound as horrible as it was. " _had_ you, I won't be able to protect you, not from the whole Kings Guard." He hated admitting his faults and limitations, but he needed her to see past all the silly fairytales and songs.

 

     Sandor wanted to turn to her. He wanted to grab her hand in both of his and stare into her eyes so she could see that she could trust him. He could steal her away, drag her out of Kings Landing at the first chance he got and never look back. He wanted to save her, but his damned mind wouldn't stay out of it. _'You're no Lord. No Knight. You're a dog. You have nothing to offer her. No land, no honor, no gold. You'll be mad to think she'll leave all this to go anywhere with you.'_ His eyes shifted around the room, hesitating as he spotted the expensive furniture, the beautifully detailed gowns that no doubt hung in the oversized wardrobe across the room, and even the bloody sheets they were lying on were far softer than he had ever felt in his life. He couldn't compete with even just the left overs that the Lannisters had to offer her. If he did drag her away, where would he keep her? She'd be sleeping on the dirty earth, underneath the trees, with the exception of the occasional inn or rented room when he could afford it. It was no life for a lady, let alone his little bird. He shut his eyes, not wanting to look at the ugly truth any longer. For now, he would just lie on this bed and enjoy feeling her warm, womanly body next to him. He would take care of the bed coverings before the sun came up, burning them far away from the Keep where no one would ask whose blood it had been. When the sun did finally rise, he would go to Joffrey and stand as his guard, as he had always done, with an extra careful eye for his little bird. He would do everything he could to protect her, as they waited for the lions to attack, because as long as she stayed in Kings Landing, he knew it would happen eventually. It was all he could do and he knew that it wasn't enough.

 

     Sansa shifted against him, pulling herself tighter towards his unclothed torso as she hugged the muscles of his arm. She was breathing so softly and she smelled so sweet. He wanted to bed her again, taking her for as long as he could before they would be forced to part for the remainder of the night. "Sandor," she called gently to him. When he realized she was waiting for him to respond, he grunted roughly his acknowledgement, and she continued timidly, her voice falling just above a whisper. _"Will you take me away?"_


End file.
